


Wolves and Girls

by redonpointe



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 13:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11381400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redonpointe/pseuds/redonpointe
Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a terrifying individual of dubious morals with a protective streak a mile long.





	Wolves and Girls

**Author's Note:**

> I debated for a long, long time before posting this fic, mostly because I wasn't sure if I was being fair as a writer. Currently, I'm saying screw it. This is really just my interpretation.
> 
> Star Trek: Into Darkness is also quoted here very briefly. I figure that if Natasha can quote War Games at Steve while they're in the middle of a dangerous mission, she can quote Star Trek at Irene. Because she's a dork even when she's being terrifying. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading. :)

The penthouse Irene Adler had been holing up in for the last few years was lovely. Natasha could concede that much. The decorations were an elegant white, black, and chrome, the rooms were spacious and the ceilings high. The floors a gleaming, black marble.

She made a good living for herself, doing what she did. If she hadn't overstepped, Natasha would've been happy to leave her alone.

She slipped into Irene’s bedroom without a sound, dosed her with a mild sedative before she had a chance to wake, and cast the needle aside. Silent, careful, calculating, Natasha waited until Irene was limp and unconscious before she slipped out of her coat and scarf, leaving them both on the nearest chair to browse through her drawers. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. She carried the length of black cotton rope to the bed with her, and within minutes had Irene expertly bound to the head and foot of the bed by her wrists and ankles.

When she woke an hour later, Natasha stood at the end of the bed, phone in hand, scrolling through her Twitter feed. She looked up, flashed a smile, and pocketed the phone while Irene tried to free herself in a bit of a panic.

Natasha's voice was velvet-covered steel. "You think you're the only one who knows who to tie a knot?"

Irene tipped her head back on the pillow to look at her wrists, blinking drowsily. The ropes were tight enough to feel against her skin, but not so tight that they cut off her circulation. A pull of her legs revealed her ankles had been bound in much the same manner.

She fixed blue eyes on the redhead standing at the foot of her bed. "Normally I'd find this all rather enjoyable," she began in her casual purr, "but I do so prefer being the one in control."

"How unfortunate for you." Natasha's smile was pure poison. "Only Sherlock Holmes is allowed to tie me to a bed, and as you can see,” she gestured vaguely to the empty room, “he’s not here. Though the way it usually works out, it's the other way around." She walked around the bed to sit beside her on the mattress, crossing her legs at the knee. "Which brings me to the purpose of my visit."

Irene lifted an interested brow. "Sherlock Holmes is the reason you're here?" She swept her eyes over the rest of Natasha with newfound intrigue. "My, my, isn't he full of surprises."

“He is, and so am I." Natasha smiled again, the slow smile of a predator. "You're going to stay away from him,” she instructed. “You're going to stop texting, and you're going to keep your twisted little games to yourself, is that clear?”

Irene huffed softly, flicking her eyes up to meet hers. "Or what? You're not the first to threaten my life, you know.” She pulled on her restraints one more time. “Although the tying up is rather new."

Natasha moved, quick and silent. She pressed the tip of a knife to Irene’s throat, looming over her with that same terrifying smile. Irene struggled instinctively.

They stared at each other for the space of several seconds.

"I trust I've made myself clear?” Natasha asked, but didn't give a chance to reply. “You're a clever woman, Irene, Sherlock wouldn't have been drawn to you if you weren't," she continued. "I don't begrudge you that. But you use that cleverness to get what you want at whatever cost, and what you want are _pets_. You want things you can control, manipulate, _use_ , put on a leash _._ You're not unlike Charles Magnussen, in that way. You like to feel powerful, and the more powerful your pet, the more powerful you feel, isn’t that right? A dominatrix, through and through. Makes you wonder what he used to get up to in his free time."

Irene eyed her disdainfully. ”You’re psychoanalyzing me now, are you?"

"Can't help it, it's what I do." Natasha winked and pressed the tip of her knife into Irene's neck with her gloved hand, just enough to break the skin. "Sherlock Holmes is _not_ your pet. He's not a _thing_ for you to collect or use or manipulate, and if you find yourself even remotely tempted to text him again, I want you to think about what's happening to you right now. And I want you to reconsider."

Irene sucked in a breath. "Is this a threat, then?"

"A promise." Natasha tipped her knife away from Irene's throat, cleaned it off on the bedsheets. She rose off the mattress to put it away as Irene's head lolled back on the pillow, brows pinched close together.

"What was on that knife? I feel—"

"Dizzy, I know." Natasha walked around the bed again. "You'll fall asleep soon and someone will find you, safe and unharmed. I just wanted you to have a little taste of your own medicine."

"He hasn’t… texted me back... in years," she slurred back.

"I know that too." Natasha gathered her coat from the chair and slipped it on, tying the belt around her waist. "Why text you when he has me? I’m so much better.”

“At what?”

“Everything.” Natasha picked up and wrapped a navy blue scarf she’d stolen from Sherlock around her neck. "Now then, try not to choke on your own vomit. Doesn't make for a pretty corpse, does it?" She strolled to the door, pausing to add a final word. " _Dosvidanya_ , Miss Adler. As fun as this was, for your sake, I hope we never meet again."

* * *

Sherlock Holmes had gotten used to Irene’s texts over the years.

Her moan scarcely registered as anything other than what it was anymore, just another sound on his phone, indicating he’d received a text. Predictable, expected, common. Usually read, deleted, and forgotten, all in one swipe. Much like his memories of the woman herself. Irene Adler rarely made it past the periphery of his mind these days.

The moan currently alerting him to a text, however, was not Irene Adler’s. Sherlock knew the difference, and he _knew_ this moan like the knew the beat of his own heart. He'd felt it hot against his ear, feverishly pressed against his lips, all in vain efforts to keep quiet. Everything from length to breath to pitch, all ninety-two different variations thus far, had been carefully cataloged in his mind palace long ago.

Straightening in his chair, he tore his eyes from the eyepiece of his microscope, reached over to pick up his phone. He read the familiar name flashing on the screen with a quick sweep of his eyes. _Natasha_.

Memories of soft, creamy skin, flushed hot and pink, immediately invaded his consciousness. Memories of blood red hair, messy from his own fingers running through it, splayed across his pillows; of pale green eyes so soft, so heated, so loving and dilated, he could scarcely see the green. Full pink lips breathing his name like music, whispering words in Russian that sent shivers down his spine, had his heart playing staccato, clinging to the edges of his mind long after their bodies stilled.

This moan was real, not designed to shock or manipulate, but a natural reaction to _him_. A vital, primal thing that belonged to him, and no one else. This was Natasha Romanoff’s moan.

He heard her footsteps behind him seconds before he felt her arms wrap around his shoulders, and only then did he realize he’d closed his eyes. “You don’t have to keep it,” she whispered in his ear, “but if you’re going to have a woman moaning on your phone, it might as well be me.”

“You—” Sherlock cleared his throat, opening his eyes and leaning back in his chair so he was pressed against her. “You’re back.”

“Didn’t take me more than a day or two to do what needed to be done.” She nipped his earlobe. “I changed the alert before I left, recorded it while we... said our goodbyes.”

Sherlock released a sharp exhale, and even through the sudden fog of desire, he could see the chain of events leading up to the current moment in time. Irene’s text, the moan, Natasha scrolling through to read it. He tipped his head to meet her eyes, reaching up with one hand to run his fingertips across the arm she’d wrapped around his shoulders.

“Clever minx,” he said quietly. “You didn’t kill her, did you?”

“Funny.” Natasha flashed a smile, this one soft and honest. “You know I didn’t, you went through all that trouble to save her in the first place. I didn’t want it to be in vain.”

Natasha’s moan interrupted them again, the way a text alert usually did when Sherlock didn’t immediately check the message he’d received. His eyes immediately dropped to her lips, dark and dilated and _scalding_.

“That’s very distracting,” he informed her

“I wanted to make a point.” Natasha leaned in to claim his lips in a passionate kiss, lingering close when she broke away. She raked her fingers through his hair. “ _Mine_.”

Sherlock breathed her in. “Care to demonstrate?”

Natasha exhaled a soft laugh and tugged him to his feet, walking backward down the hallway. She snapped the stolen navy blue scarf off her throat with a flourish, never breaking eye contact. “ _With pleasure._ ”

Sherlock pounced before she had a chance to take another step, and soon they were stumbling into his bedroom in a flurry of needy kisses, half ripped clothes, and breathless laughs against each other’s skin. The phone stayed exactly where it was on the kitchen table, the alert never changed.

Irene Adler never texted Sherlock Holmes again.


End file.
